


you won't hear me sing the blues

by brokendrums



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Curtain Fic, Domestic Bliss, Football, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall spends a Sunday off with David.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you won't hear me sing the blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlecather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecather/gifts).



> Title from [No Worries - Disciples & David Guetta. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9pJsfHSDdU)
> 
> Happy birthday Rhian! I hope this is okay, even though it is soppy and languid to the point where it goes nowhere. It's also unbeta'd because my time management has definitely not been up to scratch this weekend! 
> 
> I hope you have a nice day!

Niall wakes up slowly, his face pressed into the dip between the pillows. 

It’s warm, early summer sun spilling through the gap in the curtains and falling across the bed. He can feel a patch of it on his thighs, creeping up his body. Niall hadn’t been so sure when they bought the new place -- a new place where they could be Niall-and-David, rather than a place that was one of theirs but not the other’s first -- if they should have so many windows. It felt a bit invasive, all that glass with nowhere to hide. One of the first things they bought together was a set of thick, charcoal curtains that hang right to the floor. It makes their bedroom feel cosy, a wall of fabric softening the entire room. Sometimes, when he’s lying in bed alone, it makes Niall think back to the dividers they used on tour, Harry tangled up in the curtains because he could never cope spending all that time alone in his dressing room and wanted to chat. Always wanting to chat. 

Niall must’ve forgotten to pull them properly last night. 

He forgives himself -- he _was_ a little preoccupied with other things at the time. 

It’s still early enough, the birds outside chirping out their morning chorus. That type of early where there's something sort of special about rolling over to sleep again because you don't have to be up for a while. The type where you're glad your sleep was disturbed just to go back to it. 

Niall would gladly drift off again but the other side of the bed is empty, the sheets only slightly rumpled. Niall frowns, presses his nose into the pillow for a moment to inhale the reassuring scent of David. Proof that he actually was here and not just Niall’s over active imagination working throughout the night. 

It’s happened before -- Niall would wake up in the pre-dawn, disorientated from his dreams and go searching for David, only to remember when he’s standing shivering half way down the stairs that David’s still in South Africa, or Australia or wherever his next project has taken him. 

But he is here today. Niall flops onto his back, stretches out across the bed. There’s a pocket of warm air under the duvet so he must not have gotten up that much before him. Probably still on a different time zone altogether.

Niall grabs a pair of soft pyjama bottoms he's had for ages -- the material gone soft and thin in places from wear -- and pulls them on. They feel nice against him and Niall runs his hands over his thighs, up over his bum to his hips. He hums, gives his dick a grope -- just because -- and heads down the stairs. 

He finds David in the kitchen, stooped over the stove with the extractor fan humming gently above him. He's wearing an old Joy Division t-shirt, the peaks of the pulsar visualisation design on the front faded until it's barely there. He had read once -- on a long night spent down a wikipedia wormhole -- all about how the bumps and ripples were the visual representation of a spinning neutron star. 

David hadn’t cared, he just wanted the t-shirt. 

It's too stretched down his back, the hem slipping down over his arse. He must've picked up Niall’s boxers from the bedroom floor, the material too tight across the bit of his arsecheeks that Niall can see. 

David hisses in frustration, swearing quietly under his breath. Niall hadn't realised how much he'd missed him just being here, his chest filling up with some sort of desire to just bottle him up and keep him someplace special. A little bit of him to sit on the mantelpiece or to fit inside his breast pocket. It's little things like this -- the idiosyncrasies, the quiet moments, the bits of everyday that indescribably belong to _David_ \-- that make him feel more at home.

“Souts,” Niall greets him, grinning at the display in front of him from the doorway. 

David looks over his shoulder, his face falling. “I was going to bring this to bed.”

Niall laughs and makes his way across the kitchen towards him. He’s in the middle of fiddling with the Nespresso, two pans of boiling water bubbling on the stove. 

“Go back up,” David insists, fiddling with the lever. Niall glances over at the saucepans and reaches for the one that is threatening to boil over. David bats him away, spinning on his heel and hipchecking him out of the way. “Back to bed with you.”

Niall laughs. “What are you making?”

“I’m poaching,” David tell him, finally looking at him properly. “I’ve mastered it now.”

Niall can’t help laughing, leaning into him until his laughter is half muffled. Niall can’t stop touching him, feeling his warm skin under his palms, how firm his biceps feel. 

David gets distracted for a moment, leaning down to kiss along Niall’s jaw. Niall sighs. This isn’t what he was angling for but he’ll take it. He’ll always take it. Niall rolls up into him, t-shirt feeling slippery soft against his front. 

“Go to bed,” David says into his lips. He still smells of their bed -- of lavender and sleep and Niall. 

Niall shakes his head. “Only if you’re coming with me.”

It’s enough to make David laugh but then the saucepan starts to sputter and David’s pulling away, his hands going into the air frantically. “Fuck,” he hisses, turning back to the cooker. 

Niall laughs and leaves him to it. “I’ll do the coffee,” he says, not expecting David to answer. 

Niall presses buttons on the machine until it spurts coffee, pours orange juice and sets the table. He hasn’t ate at it since the last time David has been home, preferring the coffee table in the living room where he can watch Match of the Day or Celebrity Juice with his feet up. It's his favourite room in the house, both of them managing to strike a balance between their interests and their work. Niall keeps most of his guitars in a room upstairs but David let him hang a Gibson up in the corner and his old glass table made it here from the old place, the noughts and crosses still in the middle. He'd lost an X in the big move, the game biased now but David had kissed him to make up for missing it. 

The sun catches the back corner of the garden, the grass starting to look a bit overgrown. There’s a patch of sweet pea crawling up the trellis over the old coal shed where David’s stored his bike. They haven't really gotten stuck into it yet, both of them wanting to do the house themselves and forgo a designer. There just hasn't been the time to start digging up the old slabs in the patio and reseed the lawn. It looks a bit bare in places but Niall likes to think of it as a work in progress.

It’s a little bit chilly in the shade of the house as Niall makes his way across the garden, grit sticking to the button of his bare feet. He picks a lilac sweetpea, the head of it dropped down and pretty. The petals are tinged pale until the ends, going nearly translucent when he holds it up to the sun.

He drops it into an inch of water in an old mug and sets it in the centre of the table just as David flicks off the extractor fan. 

“And voilà,” David says, setting down the plates with a flourish. Niall smiles at him, shuffles his chair closer to where David is sitting opposite him. 

He’s poached some eggs, a slice of bacon sitting artfully ontop of a buttery slice of toast. 

“No smashed avocado?” Niall asks, picking up his fork. 

David puts on an affronted expression. “Please, Niall. I think Jamie prefers _crushed_.”

Niall grins, pushes the side of his fork through the soft yolk. David hisses out a ‘yes’.

“It’s good,” Niall compliments him, pushing the arch of his foot against the front of David’s shin. David smiles and tucks into his breakfast.

They eat in relative silence, just the scraping of forks on plates and the low hum of the radio station on in the living room. Niall hadn’t realised it was on earlier, the extractor fan blocking out the music.

Niall had once been worried about dropping into these types of silence. Long bursts of time where Niall would worry that he was boring David or wracking his brain to think up something witty or interesting to say. But they’d pan out quiet and content and Niall grew to love them.

David glances up at him when he’s finished, reclining in the chair and stretching his legs out under the table. He mirrors Niall, rubbing his ankle up against Niall’s shin. Niall smiles, reaching over to swipe David’s crusts off his plate. 

Since David made breakfast, Niall offers to wash up. 

“No,” David says, taking the plates off him. “I think we were heading back to bed.”

Niall laughs, letting him bundle him against his chest and frogmarch him up the stairs. 

The duvet is as rumpled as Niall left it half an hour ago but this time, David’s with him as they crawl back in. 

“Missed you,” David says quietly, a hand resting on Niall’s hip. Niall hums his agreement and reaches for David’s face, his thumb rubbing over where he’s growing in stubble while he’s on the road. It’s rough against his palm for a moment before David turns into it, kisses him in the centre of his hand to make it sweet. 

“Sap,” Niall says fondly. David rolls his eyes, shuffles closer for a proper kiss. 

It’s easy to drop into a kiss, to just slide across their soft duvet and lick into his mouth. Niall’s always thought of himself as pretty independent -- as someone who doesn’t need to always be permanently attached to someone else. Everyone had sort of been surprised, Niall included, that it hadn’t taken him that long to settle down. 

Harry had called him up, the time between calls stretching longer and longer each time and asked in very leading sentences what he was up to with David. Niall had laughed, blushing even over the phone and haltingly admitted that they were maybe seeing each other. Telling Harry had been very much like Niall hadn’t just let the cat out of the bag, but tipped the bag over and set the cat racing off himself to tell everyone -- _everyone_ \-- they knew. Niall had panicked for an afternoon, worried that it was too quick, too soon. That David would think that Niall was starting to _cling_ because he wanted to wake up everyday to his face, wanted to reach across and cup his chin just because he wanted to touch, wanted to sit and do their own thing, neither of them speaking just as long as he was there. 

But now it’s easy to admit that. Now, he knows David is on the same page. 

Niall has to stop them when David reaches around to grope at his bum, the heat between them notching up a little as they properly snog in the middle of their big bed.

“Come on, we’ll be late,” Niall says, dragging himself off the bed. 

David moans, rolls over onto his front so his face is hidden in the duvet. “Niall, come back. I haven’t seen you all month.”

“And whose fault was that?” Niall asks, no heat in it. Niall’s been busy while he’s been away too. He slaps at David’s arse playfully and then sinks his hand into the muscle, feeling how he clenches in his soft boxers. Niall laughs when he moans again, this time more gutteral even though it’s muffled by the mattress. 

David makes no attempt to move and Niall sighs, leaning down again so he can rest a few fingers at the base of David’s spine, just where it dimples a little bit. He feels him shiver and smiles. It had meant to be a surprise but he has a feeling that David just won’t get up if he doesn’t tell him now. “Kick off is at two.”

It takes a moment, a delayed second before David is flipping over. “Kick off?”

Niall retreats, standing up before David can pull him down onto the bed again. He needs to hit the shower and get ready if they’re going to make it at this rate. But David looks good all spread out across the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and his boxers slipping down over his hip. 

Niall just smiles at him -- he’s gave too much away already -- and slips off into the bathroom. 

“Niall,” David calls after him. “The Chelsea match is at two.”

“Oh yeah?” Niall calls back, fighting a grin and hitting the buttons on the shower. The spray of the water is loud but Niall strains to hear his response. He feels a giddy bout of laughter bubble up from his stomach as he hears David grumble something. 

And then, “Niall!” David calls, his voice nearly ringing off in a whine. “Chelsea are playing Man United today.”

“Gosh,” Niall says, putting on his best surprised tone. “I wish someone told me that when I accepted two seats in Jose’s private box!”

David’s response is drowned out by Niall pushing his head under the spray of the shower. All he hears is the water as it rains down on his scalp, rolling over his face and past his ears. His hair plasters to his forehead and he tips his face up to it, holds his breath as his heartbeat sounds in his ears. 

David’s hands on his waist aren’t that much of a surprise, Niall had half been expecting it. It makes him gasp, all the same. Water dripping into his mouth as he jerks out of the spray. 

“Souts,” Niall says, putting a hand up against the wet tiles to steady himself. 

David is nuzzling into his wet neck, licking at the water that’s running across his skin. “Mr Souts.”

Niall never gets tired of hearing it. Mister Soutar. Even though it’s half a pisstake and Niall never actually changed his name, it sends a thrill through him every time David calls him that. Reminds him of that crisp morning when they stood on the shore of Lough Eske in front of three hundred of their closest friends and decided to make it real -- real on paper, anyway. Until it had started to rain and they had to run, hands gripped together, back towards the shelter of the hotel. Niall couldn’t breathe for laughing, David curling into him when they got under the eaves and kissing him up against the aged oak doorframe. 

Niall gasps, stares at the water dribbling over the ring on his left hand. 

“We don’t have time,” Niall mutters, leaning back into his chest for a moment. The feel of his wet body flush against his back makes him sink into it, his resolve wavering. David’s hands slide -- sure of themselves -- over Niall’s hips until they’re both pressed to the bottom of his belly, his palms warm against Niall’s wet skin. 

“Love you,” David says easily into his ear, one hand slipping further down. Niall sighs, reaches back so he can pat at David’s slippery hip, down his thigh, fingers slipping over the curve of his arse. 

It still feels special to hear it. Niall grunts, pushes his arse back into David’s dick. 

David laughs softly, pulling away from Niall’s neck and putting an inch of space between them. “We definitely don’t have time for that. But --” he says teasingly, drawing one hand back to rest on Niall’s right bumcheek. Niall feels like his knees might buckle. It seems like an age before he draws a finger into the cleft of his arse. Niall bucks his hips at the shock of it, rolling back into it, wanting to feel that slow rub over his hole again. 

“Later,” David says, promisingly and then he’s turning Niall, pushing him up against the wall to kiss him. The water hits his shoulder, sprays David across the chest and face until he’s as soaked as Niall is. 

“Later,” Niall agrees, lifting his chin and angling for a kiss. David smiles at him, his eyes soft when he gives it to him. Niall pulls him closer, pushing his thigh up against David’s dick. They rut together, as best they can without falling over in the bath and try to kiss without getting too much water in their mouths. It's awkward but Niall doesn't want to stop. It feels rushed and urgent and suits the roar of blood in his ears, that thump of his heart setting off like a hare. 

“Gotta be quick,” David says, breaking away from Niall with dark eyes and a redder mouth. “Don’t want to miss anything.”

“You’ve changed your tu--” Niall cuts off with a groan, rolling his hips again against David’s stomach. He doesn’t have it in him to be witty and teasing like this. “Come on then.”

David’s grin turns wicked and then he’s dropping to his knees, folding his legs behind him in the bath. Niall’s hands scrabble for something to hold onto, one grabbing for the rose gold plated soap dish jutting out at chest height and the other sinking into David’s hair. 

It’s easier to see how long it’s grown when it’s wet like this, the curls pulled out straight with the weight of the water. Niall likes it, enough to run his hands through. He pushes it away from his face, scraping it up his forehead so Niall can see his eyes flutter as he sucks him down. 

He’s quick and efficient and Niall grips at the soap dish, the fixture rocking a little bit with the strength of it. “David,” he mutters, reverent as David rolls his dick in his mouth, licks around the head expertly and sucking alternating between deep, long pulls and soft, fluttering swallows. He knows too well what Niall likes, going for gold straight away. No time for Niall to ease into it. “Fuck.”

Niall curls over with the force of it, coming across David’s mouth and lips and chin. There’s a spot on his cheek, slipping slightly with how wet his face is into his stubble. Niall cradles his face gently, his fingers nearly numb. 

David grins, pushing forward until he can press a lingering kiss to Niall’s hip and then past him to show his face up into the spray. 

Niall’s still catching his breath, doing his best not to fall over on the slippery porcelain. “No fair,” he mumbles, words only half forming on his lips. David starts to laugh, already knowing why he’s complaining. 

“You can clean me up later,” David says, breathless himself as he grips the side of the bath to pull himself to his feet. 

Niall frowns, reaching for his hip to steady him. He’s still hard, his dick bobbing out towards Niall. 

“It’ll just take a second,” Niall promises, his balance coming back to him. David grins, groans into Niall’s mouth when he goes for a kiss. 

They miss the pre-game announcements and the players running out onto the field. But David decides it’s worth it in the end. 

The box is busy as they shuffle down into their seats, Niall going to get them beers because David’s got that resolute expression on his face, the one that Niall knows is reserved for Serious Matters. He’s got Man United Tunnel Vision. By the time Niall gets back from the bar where he'd been pulled into four different conversations, the clock is already into double figures and Marcus Rashford is on the ball, dribbling in and out of legs towards the goal. 

“Get it!” David is yelling, his hand raised into a fist in front of his chest as he stares down onto the pitch. Niall laughs, stooping to set David's beer onto the ledge in front of him and keeping his own in his hand. “Send it home!”

It’s hard not to get swept up in it. Niall _loves_ football -- the atmosphere, the chants of the crowd, the taste of beer on his tongue on a sunny afternoon. He’d rather Chelsea win but David’s enthusiasm is hard to ignore, it’s infectious and he finds himself yelling along with everyone else in red as the ball goes soaring into the back of the net. 

David screams out something half unintelligible and then Niall’s being bundled up into an exuberant hug. Niall laughs, half his beer sloshing out of the cup as David jumps them up and down. There’s a rousing round of _ole ole ole_ going round the stands and even though they’re distanced from it, the crowd a bit more sedate where they’re sitting, David chants along unabashed. 

He keeps his arm around Niall’s back, his fingers gripping his coat at the bicep as he jumps them. Niall’s feet are hardly leaving the floor, just a steady, rhythmic pulse on the balls of his feet as they bounce. David's voice carries and it's hard not to give in to his infectious nature. The ball is back in play but David leaves his arm there until he has to use it to scream at the ref three and a half minutes later.

Niall laughs and joins in. 

*

Niall had wanted to get the boat back into town -- the sun still warm, albeit sunken further down in the sky so everything going a soft golden colour -- but it doesn’t open on a Sunday. 

“It's the 21st century, for fucks sake,” Niall mutters as he stares at the plastic plaque displaying the opening hours. 

David, buoyed up by United’s win, laughs at his affronted face and sets off down the street to the nearest Tube station. It’s a bit busier than it was getting into town earlier, but Niall keeps his head down and no one bothers them. It doesn’t happen as much anymore and Niall’s fine with it, he likes being able to slip down escalators and into the belly of the rush hour commute and not get pointed at and prodded and hauled into cramped, busy platforms for photographs. Not that he does that often anyway, preferring to navigate London above ground when it's busy, but the point still stands. 

It still makes him a little anxious, that natural instinct kicking in as the doors slide closed and there's that moment before the judder of the train as it starts to move, Niall’s stomach twisting every time. The clack of the train loud through the open window at the far end over the silence of a carriage full of strangers. The whoosh of stale air, the stuffiness of it catching under Niall’s collar. 

They stand, Niall swaying with the momentum of the floor and focusing on keeping his balance as David scrolls through his phone. He pockets it, edges closer to Niall until he's nearly blocking out the rest of the carriage. 

“Do you want to make dinner?” David asks him, his voice dropping low. 

Niall ponders, he’s got a few bits and pieces in but probably not enough to make anything impressive. Sundays always call for something a bit special for tea. “Pub?” he suggests and David laughs brightly. Niall suspects that he was already expecting it. 

David presses closer to him, his arm reaching up to hold onto the bar behind Niall's head. It's easy for Niall to tip himself forward, let himself be enveloped in the comforting smell of David between the lapels of his coat.

“Nearly there,” David says, reassuringly and curls over him more. Niall grins into the shadow below his chin, presses his lips to the jut of his Adam's apple.

They nearly miss their stop, heading as close to home as possible as the train empties out. “Come on,” David says, stepping out onto the platform. Niall fights the urge to grab for his hand, as if he'd get lost in the crowd but just because he wants to hold it. 

Niall finds a sunny corner of the paved patio outside the Queen’s Arms, ivy crawling up the brickwork and the paint chipping off the picnic table in thick green flakes. There’s two empty glasses sitting on it, the residue of the foam head still fresh around the lip. He pushes them to the end of the table and climbs over one of the benches, making sure that the sun is behind him. 

David arrives, a pint in each hand and a packet of pork scratchings in his mouth. 

“They’re still serving the roast,” David says once he’s let the bag drop onto the table and his mouth is clear. Niall laughs, accepting the pint out of his hand. 

David takes a moment to fold his gangly legs over the edge of the bench, tucking himself into the space between the wall and the table, opposite Niall. He squints, his face sunbright and golden. It makes his face softer, his smile more rueful. 

“You did this on purpose didn’t you?” David asks, his face screwed up in the sun. 

Niall laughs, takes a refreshing drink out of his glass so it’s a moment before he answers easily. “Yes, you look good in the sun. My little sunflower.”

David rolls his eyes, lifts a hand to shield his eyes. “You’re not getting any of my scratchings then.”

Niall snorts. He can keep his pork scratchings. 

David’s rueful grin is ruined by how dipped his forehead is against the sun. “None of my pork --” he pauses for performance, “sausage either.”

Niall takes pity on him and unclips the sunglasses from the front of his t-shirt, handing them across the table to David. David looks equally as good in Niall’s Ray Bans as he does squinting. 

“I think that’s more your loss than mine,” Niall manages to say, keeping his face straight. It’s hard, he has to pinch at his thigh to stop himself from breaking into giggles. 

David smiles, nudges the bag of pork scratchings at him, the bottom of the packet getting caught in the space between the slats of the table. 

“Sharing is caring,” David concedes, finally forcing Niall to laugh. 

David launches into telling Niall all about his filming. In all the time they’ve spent together today and last night, there hasn’t really been a chance to actually sit down and catch up. They’ve been able to keep in touch most of the time when David’s been away, so Niall’s already heard his hilarious story about Gabe almost falling head first into the River Danube but David’s so enthusiastic retelling it that Niall lets him, smiling at him over the rim of his pint glass. 

Their dinner arrives just as he finishes, David dropping his gesticulating hands to help move glasses and bags of pork scratchings out of the way for the plates. 

“Have you decided any more about it?” David asks, breaking the lull in conversation between them as they tuck into their dinner. 

Niall reaches for his drink, the glass sweating condensation as it sits in the sun. David’s been pushing him to make a decision all month and Niall’s been stalling. 

“There’s no rush,” Niall tells him, not for the first time. He’s been artfully ignoring all of the emails about the album work. Liam’s Whatsapps are decidedly harder to dodge but not impossible. 

David shoots him a wan smile, a piece of beef hanging off his fork. Niall ducks his head. He knows he’s been dragging his heels on this. And he shouldn’t -- it’s what he wants to do, after all. 

It’s just, this. This is so much more attractive to him at the moment -- slow Sunday’s down the pub, enjoying the English summer sun like it’s on ration, hopping over to see Bobby and Theo on long weekends, board meetings talking shop at Modest Golf. He’s got his handicap down, his swing has improved, he looks better in a pair of tight Nike slacks than he ever has before. 

David’s so different in that regard. Well, at least at the minute. He’s got his projects and his filming and his travelling. He’s all over the world this year, ducking back to London to attend the Bafta’s and get fitted at Burberry and see Niall on lone days off like this. 

Tomorrow, he’s away again. 

Niall isn’t sure when he started to feel bitter about being left behind. His mum says it’s normal. That Niall feels lost now that that natural honeymoon period has ended -- the meeting up at the end of the day for Niall’s home-cooked meals and dessert in the Waterford Crystal bowls they unwrapped two days after the wedding, the going to bed early to just be with each other, the holding hands because they can’t bear to not be touching. 

Now that David’s went back to work. To doing what he loves. And Niall’s hitting the fairways like he's got nothing else better to do. 

“I’ll set a meeting,” Niall says to his plate, where his roast potatoes are soaking up gravy. Niall sets his knife into one, watching as it sinks through it. “See what they have to say.”

“It’ll be fun,” David says, his voice bright and believing. Niall smiles at him, clinging onto the reassurance in it. It’s daunting to get the band back together, it’s been so long. What if they no longer fit like jigsaw pieces, anymore?

Niall smiles into his dinner, rubbing his ankle against where David’s is pressing close under the table. 

He’ll work something out. 

*

They finish dinner and the pork scratching, splitting six more pints between them before they hit the road, their chat getting more silly the longer they sit basking in the sun.

Niall’s feeling it, body warm and listing off to the side as they walk along the path towards home. He stumbles into the grass verge, snorting to himself before he sets himself right, trying to match his steps to David’s on the footpath. David laughs at him, his face half in shadow with the last of the sun behind him. There was no sunset -- just the sky fading blue until it’s a pale hue up above. He’s pinker than usual, his spot in the sun at dinner probably to blame. He’ll complain tomorrow and have to borrow Niall’s fancy moisturiser that they both pretend he doesn’t use and Niall will have to tell him to quit whining, kissing him on his red raw nose before dropping him back at the airport. 

Niall’s never felt so in love. 

“I missed you,” he says, finally telling him what he’d been feeling all day. That bright happiness that stems with just spending time with David being the thing that he’d been lacking while he was away. 

David smiles at him, his eyes softening. “Love you,” David promises. 

Niall smiles, reaches for him and David meets him half way, their fingers tangling as they set back off for home.


End file.
